


Last Man Standing

by gwenweybourne



Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: 2019 Australia tour, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Grieving, Old Friends, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-12 16:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19576810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: Micky and Mike sit under the stars Down Under on the eve of the 2019 Australian tour. And Micky has a request.





	Last Man Standing

**Author's Note:**

> A short, sad/fluffy/corny drabble about Micky and Mike on the eve of their recent tour of Australia. Inspired by several interviews, including a notable TV appearance in Sydney where Mike got very emotional speaking about Peter's passing. But this is pure fiction.

_June 2019_

The weather was cooler than even he expected. Micky Dolenz had visited Australia numerous times but he never got used to the flipped-around seasons. It was coming on summer back home and here they were heading into winter. And, at age seventy-four, and as a result of a near lifetime of living in California, he didn’t do well in colder temperatures. He zipped his fleece jacket up to protect his throat and cradled a modest glass of good single malt in his hand as he opened the door to the balcony.

Michael Nesmith was already sitting out there, looking up at the starry sky, likewise bundled up in a puffy parka vest that Micky teased him about — saying he looked like the Michelin Man — and a green knit hat that wasn’t _that_ hat, but a sly nod to Nez’s trademark from another life. Another time.

“You really think you should be sitting out here?” Micky remarked, already knowing the answer as he slowly lowered himself into a chair next to his old friend.

“Thanks, _Mom_. I’ll be fine for a little while. Have to enjoy seeing different star systems on this side of the world. I mean, considering we came all this way. Light pollution isn’t quite as bad, either. There’s the Alpha Centauri system, for example.” Mike pointed at some distant point in the sky that Micky couldn’t quite make out, but he’d take Mike’s word for it.

He took a sip of his Scotch. Mike turned his head at the sound. “Hey, you got one of those for me?”

“Hell no. You’re not supposed to be drinking this stuff anymore.”

Mike cleared his throat and held out his hand. Micky rolled his eyes. “You’re such a pain in the ass.” But he handed the drink over anyway. Mike took a healthy sip, then a smaller one, before handing the tumbler back to Micky. “Mmmm. That’s nice.”

“Of course it is. You know I only go for the really good stuff.”

“No point in cutting corners now, right? You can’t take it with you.”

“Funny you should bring that up.”

“Bring what up? Croaking?” Mike snorted.

“Yeah. I’ve done a lot of thinking. And I’ve made a decision.”

“Oh, is that so?” Mike’s voice was gently amused.

“I certainly have. Now listen, you gotta do something for me,” Micky said. “And I know you can do it. You have the means and the ability!”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“You gotta let me go first, Nez.”

“What’s that now?”

“You heard me. I don’t want to be the last man standing. I don’t want to be alone. Paul still has Ringo. Mick still has … everyone except Brian, which is insane — they all did five times the drugs we did. Roger and Pete have each other. Page, Plant, and Jones. I have you. I need it to stay that way. Until it’s my turn to go.”

Mike looked sidelong at Micky, trying to gauge how serious he was being. Even after all these years it wasn’t always easy to tell. “What are you talking about, man? Alone. You’ll never be alone. You have Donna and all those beautiful kids and grandkids. Tons of friends. They love you. We all love you, Mick.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Micky lifted his hat and ran a hand over the wisps that remained of his once impressive head of hair, his mouth trembling a little. “I’ve spent my life being a member of this four-man club, for better for or for worse. And god knows there was a lot of ‘worse.’ Lots of people associated with it, but in the end, it came down to us four. Even if we weren’t speaking to each other. It was our gang. And now we’re two men down … I don’t want to be the last one.”

Mike frowned. It wasn’t at all like Micky to be maudlin this way, but the early days of the press preceding their short make-up tour had been dredging up all kinds of memories for the two remaining Monkees. Mike had broken down on TV yesterday when trying to talk about Peter’s death — confessing their difficult relationship. He hadn’t even intended to say what he said — it just burbled up out of him and he was only able to discreetly stroke the back of Micky’s shoulder with a finger to warn him _I’m going there_. Micky kept his composure and smoothly stepped in to take control of the conversation and redirecting it to the interviewer, thereby taking the focus off Mike while he pulled himself together. But Mike knew the incident had shaken Micky up a bit.

He tried to lighten the mood a little. “I mean, if anything I would think you’d _love_ to be the last Monkee in the barrel. All that attention! Everyone is gonna want a sound bite. What would I do with that nonsense?”

Micky didn’t take the bait. “No, I don’t want it,” he said, shaking his head before taking another sip of Scotch. “I don’t want to do this a third time: mourn a death and then go out on the road.”

“Mick … it’s always pretty much been _your_ idea to do these memorial gigs.”

“Well, of course!” Micky said, turning to look at him. “Because if I don’t do it, no one else will! It’s for us. And for the fans. That’s how we show our love and respect to our friends whom we’ve lost. We wouldn’t be doing it if we didn’t really want to make the effort. But … it’s just the two of us now, Nez. And if you go first … they’ll all be looking to me. And I’m the voice.”

“Exactly,” said Mike. “What the hell am I gonna do with that legacy? I can’t sing your songs, man. No one can. It’s one thing to let the audience sing ‘Daydream Believer’ for Davy, but you want me to go on a Monkees karaoke tour or some silliness like that? Nuh-uh. This circus finally folds its tent permanently when the next guy kicks the bucket. You got that … Circus Boy?”

Micky ignored the jibe. “Speaking of that … no more of this quadruple bypass, heart failure nonsense, either, you asshole. You’re done with that. You nearly scared me to death pulling that shit.”

“Well, that would have solved the problem at hand.”

Micky managed an amused snort at that, and Mike twinkled at him.

“You assume I have control over my ultimate fate and destiny into the afterlife,” Mike said, reaching out for Micky’s drink, and Micky surrendered it without a fight this time.

“Of course I do. You’ll stay alive out of sheer spite. I know you have it in you. The ‘difficult’ Monkee outlasts us all. I know Pete was technically older than you by some months, but you were always the oldest. Always. You know it’s true. The main holdout in nearly every reunion we ever mounted. The fly in the ointment. It’s the ultimate poetic justice. You love that crap.”

“Well, see, it would have been better if you _didn’t_ want me to do it. Then I could really be spiteful about it. But now I know that you want me to do it? Pffft. Took all the fun out of it.”

Micky reached out and squeezed Mike’s hand. “Just try, okay? For me. You’re a reclusive weirdo anyway. I’m the extrovert. I don’t do well all by myself. I need a gang. Even if it’s just a gang of two. You’ve seen what happens when I’m left to my own devices.”

Mike felt a prickling behind his eyes and chuckled as he squeezed his old friend’s hand back. “I’ll try my best, good buddy. I’ll try.”

They held hands comfortably for a few more moments and looked up at the sky.

“You really think they’re out there somehow, Nez?”

“Yeah, I think so. In a way we’re not meant to understand yet.” Then Mike raised his voice a little. “And don’t go sending a big meteor blazing across the sky to make a point, Davy! Peter! No one likes a show-off.”

They waited. Nothing happened.

Mike pursed his lips and nodded. “Thank you.”


End file.
